


A Ribbon Wrapped Bell Still Tolls

by EmeraldSage



Series: The Holiday Collection [10]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred's the Rebel, England's the Rich Controlling Dad, Human AU, I hope, M/M, Promise of a one-day happy ending, RusAme, RusAmeHoliday, That sounds really out of place, fireplace, prompt 10, somewhat angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8805814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: RusAme Holiday Prompt #10: Fireplace





	

**Author's Note:**

> [This…will be interesting.]  
> [The minor religious focus in this piece is not based on any form of reality or experience to my knowledge, so blanket disclaimer. Please don’t get upset; it’s fiction, entirely]
> 
> Also, song lyrics are from "The Prayer," by David Archuleta

 

_I pray you’ll be our eyes_

_And watch us where we go_

_And help us to be wise_

_In times when we don’t know_

 

            The silence was deafening between them.

            He didn’t know what to do. His mind felt numb; the world felt like it was falling away even as he was standing still in the cold, unchanging, uncaring world of cold cement and stone.

            He could change his mind right now; he could seize the other’s hands, demand for them to run away together! It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about it; with who his father was, it had been a necessary conversation topic.

            But…but his father had the resources to scour the world for him. And if he did, he wouldn’t stop at simply finding them. He would _ruin_ his lover. He would exact revenge from the man who’d stolen his youngest son, even if said son had gone willingly, hadn’t been stolen _at all_. Everyone knew, after all, that his father heard what he wanted to hear.

            No one defied his father and lived. None but him.

            But this time, his life wasn’t the one at stake.

            He turned and walked away, head bowed and expression twisted with despair even as he tried his best to hide it. He sniffed, biting back tears and the wails that would come with them. He knew better than to express _anything_ he didn’t want used against him.

            And there, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man in a greatcoat, with his father’s crest on the hidden breast pocket of his suit, withdraw a cell phone and dial a number, expression pleased.

            He’d known about that, too. He wondered if Ivan had noticed, but he doubted it. It was only years of experience that led him to be aware of them at all; his secret stalkers, the ones his father paid to watch him.

            They’d paid off for the elder man, after all. They’d delivered him the information on Alfred’s greatest secret. All the hard work he’d put in to making sure no one followed him to their meetings, their dates, or their, _ahem_ , bonding nights; all of it was worthless now, because his father knew.

            And he couldn’t see Ivan anymore, because seeing him meant losing him. If there was one thing in his life that he couldn’t bear, it was that.

 

            _“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” a voice shook him out of his studies. He looked up from where he’d been typing out the latest of his essays – a thesis on how comic book superheroes had influenced the cultural perception of the Soviet Union in the United States during the Cold War – and caught sight of his father leaning against the doorframe. It was a combination of the words that he’d heard and the stance the other man had adopted – lazily arrogant, confident, uncompromising – that sent his heart racing._

_“Sorry?” he said, the confusion in his voice the most prominent, not letting any of the fear he felt show; there was no way his father could know…they’d been so careful…._

_“That Russian boy,” the verdant-eyed man drawled disdainfully, shattering all of his delusions in three words, “You look like he’s hung the moon in the sky whenever you’re together.” There was a ringing condemnation in his words, and his heart sped up._

_“Ivan?” he asked, trying to regain his footing. What exactly was happening here? “He’s a good friend. What’s he got to do with anything?” His eyes narrowed, “I thought you liked him,” he challenged, his tone defiant._

_“He’s got good connections, I suppose,” his father waved his hand, dismissing the stray thought, “But it’s not enough.”_

_“Enough for what?” he demanded, and wished he hadn’t the way his father’s face stretched into an almost **gentle** smile, but with the worst glint in his eye._

_“You, of course,” and he froze. There was **no way** … “I’m rather astonished you thought you could hide it from me. You know very well that I have people watching you whenever you’re away. And eyes whenever people can’t be around.”_

_“You’ve been spying on my apartment?” he demanded, outraged. He knew his father’s paranoia and obsessive desire for control often led to him hiring stalkers to keep track of his children. He hadn’t suffered that alone, although his were far more numerous than Matthew’s for the sheer fact that he had become quite efficient in losing them, which pissed his father off to no end._

_His father hummed, stepping into the room, closer to Alfred, and he got the sudden urge to shield himself from that penetrating gaze._

_“He’s not worthy of my son,” the man said, a familiar sneer curling on that face, “You’ll tell him you’re breaking up, and you’re not to see him again. Is that understood?”_

_There was a moment of shock before the anger took hold._

_“Are you **insane**?” he shouted, standing abruptly, narrowed green eyes having no affect on him, “You can’t tell me what to do in my life! You may be my father, but that’s **my** decision to make!”_

_“As long as you’re my son, it is,” was the soft but far from gentle reply; there was something triumphant and utterly **awful** in that gaze that made him want to look away. “I have a lot of say in your life, my dear child. Shall we go over why, hmm?” And then, his father was in front of him, pushing him back down in his chair before moving swiftly behind him, a hand resting on his shoulder keeping him still, even with the other man behind him where he couldn’t see. It was as unnerving as what he was saying._

_“I pay for your education, for one,” the elder man began, tone casual, “and I have, and am completely able to block you from acquiring loans to pay for it yourself. I’ve also got your landlord on speed dial, along with a copy of your lease, and the amount of money I’m paying yearly to allow you to live there, even if you’re paying the rent from your own job. A word from me and you’ll lose both the apartment **and** the job. And then, how will you pay for yourself, let alone your education? If you wish to have an education, you’ll do it my way, or you won’t have one at all. I practically own the job market. One word from me, and your little **boyfriend** ,” and the venom that coated that one word made him want to cringe, even as the others kept his mind utterly stunned as the dread in his heart grew larger, “will never be able to find a job, no matter what he does. Enough negativity from me, and both he and his family will be blacklisted, perhaps even deported. He lives in an off neighborhood, there’s enough crime that happens there that it wouldn’t be surprising if something…bad were to happen to any of its denizens.” A smirk curled on those lips as his chair was whirled around to face the other man. “Am I being clear enough?”_

_“You don’t have a right to do this,” he said, softly, but viciously, eyes aglow with anger even though he knew he couldn’t challenge **any** of what his father had said. It was all true, and the worst of it all, was Ivan was already having issues in the job market. He’d been turned away from jobs he was overqualified for, perfectly qualified for, and more, even when there was no one else to fill the vacancies. He’d wondered then, but he knew for certain now; his father had been interfering. “It’s my decision who I want to live my life with,” he continued, but stopped before he could say more, seeing his father’s eyes spark with rage._

_“It is **very much so** my decision. You run away with that boy, Alfred,” caustic green narrowed, “and I will hunt the both of you down to the ends of the Earth. And then I will **make sure** you never see him again. Am I clear, boy?” The casual threat, the easy shift to reveal the sheath of a dagger on his hip, and the piercing gaze that never left his own yanked the words out of his mouth and sent his mind reeling. He **couldn’t** mean…_

_Dumbfounded, furious and terrified of his father for the first time in his life, with absolutely nothing to say as the anger drained into shock, he nodded, “Y-Yes, sir.”_

_A smirk curled on the elder man’s lips, “Good. Finish your paper,” he said, and then he was gone. Leaving behind a stunned young man to regain his footing, mind reeling and adjusting all at the same time, leaving only one thing clear in his mind._

            _He had to go see Ivan_.

_Let this be our prayer_

_When we lose our way_  

            He knelt, in the snow someone had forgotten to clear, on the steps against the front of the barred church doors, leaning his cheek on the wooden portal, feeling the harsh wood scuff warningly against soft, sensitive skin. He curled up against the barrier, feeling the world he had built up around him come crashing down as he sat there, helpless to do anything. He could feel the snowflakes collecting in his hair, on his coat, on his skin, before they melted, their chill chased away by the warmth of his body overheating.

            He wished they’d stay. Maybe then, he’d feel as cold and callous and desperate as he’d felt since that morning. Maybe then, it would wake something in him that would steal his courage back from where his father had snagged it, collared it, and brought it to heel.

            Maybe then he’d feel like himself again.

            “And what are you doing here, young man?” a friendly voice called out from down the steps, and he glanced over, curious, only to see a familiar man, draped in his clerical robe, covering the light pale of his cassock. It was the priest, the one who’d been his mother’s friend long ago; the one who’d encouraged his study abroad, and his relationship.

            “Moping,” he said bluntly, feeling the despair rise again at just the thought of it, before he felt a light slap around his head, and blinked up at the priest.

            “No time for all that nonsense,” he said busily, hauling the younger to his feet with surprising strength in that spry old body, “I’ve built up a fire in the hearth, and you’ve got someone waiting for you. No sense in letting a good fireplace burn to ashes without enjoying its warmth.”

            Startled, he followed the other man, moving with him beyond the church’s barred doors and towards the small living quarters in the building nearby that served for administrative work alongside other community activities. And once they’d made it inside, and he could feel the heat of the roaring fireplace, he glanced inside, only to see…

            “Ivan,” he breathed, breathless in that heady moment when he made eye contact with the only man who’d ever loved him, and in that moment the world shifted, _changed_ , and his father’s orders be _damned_ , because there, he was right _there_ - _!_

            He didn’t remember crossing the room, nor did he remember leaping at the other man, wrapping himself like a koala around a Eucalyptus tree branch as he clung to the other. He didn’t feel it when Ivan whirled him around, pressing him against the wall next to the fireplace and connected their lips with a passion and desperation borne from the threat of long, agonizing separation.

            He just wrapped himself in the warmth and comfort that came from being here, being with _Ivan_ , and let himself fall unreservedly.

            And let Ivan catch him.

            “Young love has always been a treasure to watch,” the priest’s amused voice snapped them out of their trance-like state, and their eyes moved as one towards the amused sounding man, who was watching them with an interesting expression on his face. “I told as much to your father, Alfred, when he come seeking answers he already knew.”

            Alfred felt himself grow cold despite the warmth of the roaring hearth, and Ivan’s grip tightened around him, even as he was set down gently on the ground, detangling himself from the other man.

            “He asked you?” he breathed, and the silent _you told him_ , was as prominent in the air as the spoken question itself. The man sighed.

            “He already knew, child. All he asked was how long, and that, even I couldn’t answer,” was the sole response. His shoulders slumped, and he leaned back against Ivan. Soon enough, they’d need to part. His father was a suspicious man, though not without reason, and it wouldn’t take too long before the man noticed him missing. Then, the priest spoke, confirming what he’d been thinking.

            “You cannot be together now,” the priest’s voice was soft, sorrowful, but uncompromising, and Alfred felt his heart sink to his stomach, even as Ivan stoically wrapped an arm around him to keep him close. “But _now_ ,” he enunciated, “is not _forever_ , child.” And suddenly, he was focused again.

            “What do you mean?” he choked, and he could feel the hope grow in the way Ivan’s arm tightened around him, and the way violet eyes glinted and gleamed in the soft firelight.

            “Your father’s rules must be obeyed while you are beholden to him,” the man said softly, and dawning clarity pulsed through the young American’s system, “but once you are free of all obligation – aside from those a father demands of his blood children – you can leave his domain and do as you wish.”

            “I finish college in two years,” he breathed, knowing, whirling to face Ivan, whose hope shone as brightly as his own did, “Dad’s paying for college, but once I’m _done_ , he can’t tell me what I can do if I’m independent of him.  We can move then.  He doesn't have any influence in New York, he can't stop you from getting a job.”

            “I can wait two years,” the violet-eyed Russian responded warmly, “I would wait a lifetime. Two years is better than not being able to have you at all.”

            And he laughed, joyfully, wonderfully, and impossibly _happy_. They kissed again, in the warmth of the fireplace, at the hearth of the man who’d sheltered and advised them both. And they would support each other, and wait.

            Arthur’s orders would not be borne forever. And they had time on their side.

            Love always won, in the end. And then, they’d be safe.

 

_Lead us to a place_

_Guide us with your grace_

_To a place where we’ll be safe_

 

**END**


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